


Divine Comedy

by SilverServerError



Category: Death Note
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, M/M, matti!canon, some gender insecurity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 22:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6026821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverServerError/pseuds/SilverServerError
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mello decides to improvise. Matt plays along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Purgatorio: Canto 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [My Own Way](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/176647) by MRSJeevas. 



> This is a work based off the Matti!canon series and re-uploaded under a new account. It can be read as a stand alone piece but if you haven't read the Matti!canon you are missing out.

Mello sat in the food court absentmindedly toying with the soggy remains of a salad and staring a little too hard at the couple by the window. They were young, 15 or 16.  
It probably was not a first date, but something early on. It was obvious to see. The fear. The excitement. 

A soft “Woot!” brought his eyes back down to his husband across the table. The red head’s practically untouched burger was being ignored in favor of a newly bought game. Mello stole another chip. 

Over Matt’s shoulder the girl was doing her best to primly eat a taco. The blonde smiled softly. Rookie mistake, that. Across from her, the boy was trying to keep eye contact but was mostly uncomfortably picking tiny shreds of paper off the label of his drink. Ah, young love. What had Mello been doing at her age? Consolidating the drug cartels of Latin America. Surviving coups. Saving the world from Kira. 

Certainly he’d been doing a better job at eyeliner. 

Or… 

…had he? Maybe that was just a rose colored memory. Superimposing his current skills on the face of a younger self. He wished he had a photo of what he had looked like at the time. As a reference. 

As proof. 

“Do you want to see a movie?” The blonde asked, wiping the grease from his fingers on a napkin. “The new Bond is out.” 

His husband snorted but didn’t look up from his game. “Why? Did you not get enough international mystery and intrigue at work today?” 

They’d never really gotten to date, or at least not the teenage rights of passage. Mello imagined a back row fumble in the dark of the theatre. At the very least the universe owed him that. 

Mello picked up his drink and started toying with the straw suggestively. It wasn’t the optimal prop but he’d done more with less. “Thought you might like to see what Q made this time. Might give you some ideas.” 

His husband gave him the quickest of glances, obviously scornful of the idea. “Right, because I really want to spend my Saturday night sitting through bad movie techno babble and fake science.”  
Mello put his drink back down. It wasn’t so much the response. That was fair enough. It was the fact that his husband had either just missed, or worse ignored, Mello fellating a straw for his benefit. 

He gathered his trash to his tray, pondering. “Be right back.” 

A distracted “kk.” was his answer. 

Once around the corner Mello waited in the queue to put his tray in the rack. Was it him? He’d primped in the bathroom before he left the airport. A glance in the window against the dark night outside told him nothing was too out of place. He looked little tired maybe. He could test it. By the time he got to the front of the queue, all the top trays were filled so he crouched to put his tray in one of the bottom racks. A quick scan over his shoulder found a suitable target. He locked eyes with a hipster about 20 meters back. He reminded Mello vaguely of what Century might look like if he ever got a few piercings and cut his hair short. He was obviously with a group of friends on their way to put their used trays away. He let the glamour wash over him, standing up slowly, feline, with the unscarred side of his face watching his mark over his shoulder. He bit his lip and raised an eyebrow suggestively over a hungry gaze. 

His target froze, jaw dropped and eyes wide in rapt attention. Mello smirked, satisfied. No, it definitely wasn’t him. 

A moment later the hipster’s friend ran into his back, causing both their trays to drop in a crash of broken dishes and clattering cutlery. There was an instant commotion of surprised diners, angry janitors and laughing teenagers. By the time he looked up again, Mello was lost in the chaos. 

Back around the corner, Mello sat down, innocent as a lamb with a newly bought chocolate gelato, as if he hadn’t just happened to someone. Matt had set the game down now but was furiously typing into a messenger on his phone. “Anything important, guapo?” 

“I can’t find the secret room H2 was talking about. Either I can’t find it… me… or there is something weird going on.” 

“Maybe there was only a limited run with the easter egg?”

“Possibly, but why?”

Mello sighed. Near was probably somewhere solving actual cases and Mello was sitting here with the next smartest person he knew, pondering the case of the 4 year old commercial flop with the weird level that only sometimes showed up. Mello’s money was firmly on ‘It’s a bug. Who cares?’

Mello gathered himself for another try. He let his sweater fall so the neckline looked in danger of slipping off a shoulder. It might not be as suggestive as leather would have been but some well-framed collarbone was not to be taken for granted. He let his fringe fall forward and gazed up through it with bedroom eyes. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything coming home a day early.” He gave a slow lick to the ice cream, eyes falling demurely to watch it. 

There was a pause as Matt read the message on his phone before responding to the spoken one. “’s fine. Didn’t really have anything planned.” Nothing. 

“You sure?” Mello asked, then let his tongue trace the boarder between the cone and the ice cream. He let a melting drop run down to his wrist and licked it back up again, sucking the tip of his own finger lightly. 

Not having fully looked up, Matt passed him a napkin. “Yeah, no worries.” 

Mello gave up and let his gaze fall back over his husband’s shoulders. He caught at least seven pairs of eyes suddenly looking away and two people even shifted gingerly in their seats. 

With a slight growl Mello took the proffered napkin and cleaned the rest of his hand off. 

At the noise Matt’s eyes shot up, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing!” Mello barked digging out his own phone and starting a search. 

Matt hesitated. “Did you get another haircut?” He said uncertainly. “It looks nice.” 

“Shut up and eat your burger.” 

Matt complied, eating with one hand, texting with the other and warily watching his suddenly combustible husband.


	2. Purgatorio: Canto 2

Mello finally parked the motorcycle up in a dark alleyway of a nicer neighborhood, just the other side of a main commercial road. It was set up for a quick escape, more out of habit than expectation of trouble. It had been obvious 5 minutes in when they had turned North instead of South that they were not headed back to Matt’s car and therefore home. Matt had had an excruciating 40 minutes of not being able to talk to Mello over traffic to wonder why. 

“So… not home then.” He said, lighting a cigarette. 

“Full marks. You should be a detective someday.” Mello answered dryly, storing their helmets. “Care to elaborate?”

Matt made a show of looking around, kicking lightly at some litter, dramatically blowing out some smoke. “Dark, alley. Traffic noise from the main road. Lots of skips around. Clearly you’re about to murder me and dump the body. Bit cliché for you.” 

Matt laughed. 

Mello didn’t. 

Oh. 

The blonde visibly willed himself to leave the topic. “Strike one. Guess again.” 

The red head glanced around again. No drug paraphernalia among the litter, but the doorways were also conspicuously unmarked. His husband had parked to be close to one door in particular. 

He pulled out his phone. He used the GPS to find his address. Used that and public records to trace back to an owner. A quick look found the current renter and a scan of their personal emails made it obvious what he was looking for. 

“Sanctum.” Matt said, eyes wide.

Mello stopped a timer on his own phone. “2 minutes 47 seconds. Getting sloppy, babe.” 

“My reception is slow from the brick walls.” 

Mello just tutted. 

“So we’re actually going to a sex club?”

Mello softened. “If you want.” 

Matt was speechless. About 12 fantasies tried to start playing in his mind, all interrupting each other and none of them playing out coherently. But it would be different, to actually open the door. To actually do it. 

Mello’s voice came again, this time a little worried. “I mean, it’s fine if you’d rather not.” 

“Why now?” Matt’s gaze told him they were going in. 

Mello’s mouth split into a grin. “You need punishing.”

“For…?”

“Mail, what am I wearing?” He had his coat pulled carefully closed, keeping his husband from seeing. 

“…black?” Matt hazarded. The fact that the man with eidetic memory couldn’t remember meant he has literally not once looked.

“I work so hard so get my case wrapped up a day early.” Mello allowed himself a dramatic languish leaning against his bike. “I expect to come home to a spouse excited to see me. A drop of attention isn’t too much to ask, is it?”

“But I noticed that your hair was-” 

“-exactly the same as when I left.” 

“Right…”Matt let himself slouch against the brickwork, eyes lowered sheepishly. “Ok. Fair enough.” 

The blonde pushed himself off the bike, sauntering over to tower those important few inches over his husband. “Thought this would make the perfect contrapasso.”

Matt’s careful blankness told Mello his husband hadn’t understood. 

“I’m inattentive and you bring me to a sex club?” Matt asked, grinning. “That’s kind of rewarding bad behavior, isn’t it?” 

“Contrapasso. Il tua castigo, amore mio. Let the punishment fit the crime.” He saw the gears turning behind the redhead’s gaze. “While we are in the club you are to look at only me, door handles and the floor. No matter what you hear, you may not look. And under no circumstances are you to let yourself get hard.” 

“You’re bringing me to a sex club, to not have sex with me?” 

“Actually I wasn’t going to bring you at all. This was going to be a reconnaissance trip, but then you were headed to London anyway so plans changed.” 

“You are a paranoid fucker.” Matt grinned. 

“Anything to keep you safe, dear.” Mello aped sweetness, turning to start down the alley way and onto the street. Mail followed a step behind. 

“Does this make you my Virgil then?” Matt asked. 

Mello nodded, letting his husband know he had finally sussed the right reference. “Flattered that you think my poetry is that good but I think I’d rather be your Beatrice.” Virgil never made it to Heaven. 

Matt snorted behind him. “You might be my Peach, but like hell are you a damsel in distress.” 

“She’s not a-” Mello stopped to turn to his husband, both of them looking confused. “Did you even read the-”

“Video game.” Matt supplied. 

Mello allowed him self an exasperated little frown. “Not the most faithful of adaptations, is it?” He set off walking again and his husband followed close behind. 

“In my version Beatrice turns into a succubus.” Matt volunteered after a few moments. 

“We’ll see.” Mello said with a small smile. “Maybe if you’re good.”


	3. Purgatorio: Canto 3

Standing in line was proving to be a surreal experience for Mello. He usually entered clubs from backdoors for which he had keys or accompanied by his own soldiers on diplomatic missions. Or ‘diplomatic’ missions. Ha. 

Part of him was hoping if he could just radiate importance enough, someone would notice and they wouldn’t spend the next half hour freezing on the sidewalk. It wasn’t so bad, but worse now that they weren’t moving.

Matt chuckled beside him. “Did you pick this place just based on the name?”

Yes. “No. They’re having a newbie night. Perfect cover for intelligence gathering.” 

Matt smiled to himself. In other words they would be newbies on newbie night. “There was another place only ten minutes away and on the way to my car.” 

Mello knew which one Matt was referring to. “Mail, I’m not taking you to Club Antichrist.” 

“So the name did matter.” 

Mello raised his shoulders and frowned in a silent ‘what of it?’. Matt just laughed and went back to his phone.

“I’m not finding any of your aliases on the guest list.” Matt spoke soft enough to not be overheard, busy scrolling through the club website on his phone. They were huddling close, sharing a little body warmth against the growing chill. 

Mello laughed under his breath. “Oh Mail, you didn’t believe the guest list lie did you?” It was a common strategy for letting prospective club goers down easy, while letting the attractive ones in. “People like us don’t need to be on the list.” 

Matt let the subject drop but had been turned away by enough bouncers to know it was Mello’s ego talking. 

Or… Maybe his husband had really never been turned away? For maybe the millionth time he took in the elegant features of his husband. He sighed. Blondes had it so easy. 

His second thought reminded him that not showing up off his face and belligerent would have gotten him in a few more doors. 

“I can add us if you want. I’m in the system anyway.” 

“We’ll be fine. Stop being paranoid.” 

“Yeah, but it’s not like a normal list. There’s paid membership and everything.” 

“Then we’ll just convince them when we reach the door.” Mello’s eyes hardened. 

Right, because every bouncer loved being threatened. Matt tried again. “They need a reason to let us in; We don’t even match the dress code.” Mello glanced at his husband’s phone: ‘smart black or bare.’ “Or, at least I don’t.” 

Mello silently judged his husband that he thought the sweater he was currently wearing could in anyway be called ‘smart’. “Then take your clothes off if you’re so worried.”

“Fuck that. The last thing I need is my collar going cold.” Matt’s chin tucked into the fake fur of his gilet. “You take something off. You’re prettier anyway.” 

Mello mentally picked up the thrown away compliment, dusted it off and held it close. His next words were icy cold, “It’s so cute you think you get a choice.” Matt’s eyes widened the tiniest bit then fell subserviently to gaze somewhere around Mello’s collarbones. The blonde growled quietly into his husband’s ear. “If I tell you to get naked on the fucking street, you’re fucking doing it.” 

Matt’s cheeks were going red but he managed to keep his voice steady. “Si, Senior.” 

A movement caught Mello’s eye and he turned to see a middle aged woman standing before him on the pavement, professional and obviously a representative from Sanctum. She gestured toward the door, “So sorry to have kept you waiting, Sir. If you’ll just follow me inside?” 

Mello beamed pleased vindication at Matt and they followed her past the cue of people unimportant enough to be left in the cold. 

At the threshold Mello held the door open for his sub, who dutifully was keeping his eyes down as ordered. Mello quoted with relish, “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’entrate” before letting the door slam behind them.


	4. Inferno: Canto 1

Matt let his focus narrow. Tunnel vision until his view, his world, was the back of his husband as he followed him into the club.  
  
The solid thud of his boots on wooden floors. The clink of chain draped from his belt loops. The soft rustle of denim from his black jeans as he walked. It helped to tune out the moaning already drifting from down the hallway.  
  
Mello was out of his normal leather, favoring comfort during the long plane ride, and not having changed back into biking gear for the ride home yet. This was probably as dressed down as he’d be seen in public but it was still a sight.  
  
The boots were tied casually, letting the tops fold down around black skinny jeans. Matt’s gaze raked up to where the chain fell teasingly just short of the curve of his husband’s hips. Over that, a loose sweater, forever in the process of slipping to one side or the other, giving a hint of shoulder in either direction. And above that the blonde hair that should have been messy from hours on a plane plus the time it had just spent in a helmet, but instead was what would probably qualify as ‘artfully tousled’. He might be punished if his master knew he was thinking it, but from this angle, it was always easy to see why people sometimes took Mello for a woman. Or maybe he wouldn’t be. Matt was usually pretty good at picking up Mello’s relation to gender at any given moment.  
  
But he knew, even if others didn’t, exactly what he’d find under the layers. Glutes and hamstrings kept strong from early morning jogs that Matt knew theoretically must happen while he slept in. Defined calves. And despite everything, delicate looking ankles, because no matter how much he worked out there was nothing to change his bone structure.  
  
Not that they were delicate. He’d been kicked or stepped on enough times to know.

 

From the waist up, Mello was a testament to his parkour training. Toned muscles that Matt knew from ancient Wammy anatomy lessons. Cadavers carefully picked apart by their teachers. Organic machines, slowly unveiled, confusing in their chaos and complexity but coming together to form a functioning whole. He traced his lover’s back with his eyes, perfect memory throwing up names he hadn’t thought about for ten years. Gluteus maximus. Obliques. Infraspinatus. Scapula. Trapezius. Deltoid. Bicep. Each a simple machine that when added together to form his husband, created a poetry of movement that was suddenly beyond his description.  
  
The sliding of muscle over ribs when he was breathing heavy. The strain in his chest and shoulders when he held himself looming over Matt on their bed. The tensing of a tricep just as he brought a belt down across his flesh.  
  
**Objective Two: ‘Under no circumstances are you to let yourself get hard.’**  
  
Matt took a steadying breath and forced his thoughts back into that Wammy sponsored biology lesson. _A person, lying on the front desk, partially skinned and muscles exposed. Slowly reduced to component parts for the dubious benefit of the children surrounding the table._  
  
_The overwhelming smell of formaldehyde as it stung their noses in what they all knew to be permanent low-level nerve damage._  
  
_The memory of the distorted face of his fetal pig, sacrificed for his own personal and reluctant dissection. A sickly, wrinkly, wet beige, trapped forever in that unnatural grimace by the fixative power of stinking chemicals._  
  
“If you could just wait here for a few minutes?” The woman asked. “Is there anything I can bring you?”  
  
“No, thank you. This is fine.” Mello’s hand indicated a stuffed chair on one side of the table and Matt obediently sat across from his master.

 

 **Objective one: ‘While we are in the club you are to look at only me, door handles and the floor.’**  
  
Matt’s gaze fell on his master’s gloved hands casually resting on the table. The noises hit him relentlessly. He was doing a decent job ignoring the dirty talk by listening in the wrong language, but there was nothing he could do about the moans, grunts, slaps, and occasional actual whip cracks. There were at least 3 scenes going on now, all coming from the left at varying angles. They must be seated close to a wall halfway down the room.  
  
His master’s hand clenched into a fist and Matt’s eyes reflexively found Mello’s in inquiry. Mello’s face was trying for carefully blank but Matt knew his husband well enough to see the tells of just how much effort he was having to put into it. Something over Matt’s left shoulder had Mello’s full attention.  
  
“Add suspension rigging to your to-do list.” His master quietly ordered.  
  
“Bedroom or-”  
  
“Dungeon.”  
  
He nodded and pulled out his phone.

To Do:  
  
Pick up more eggs  
  
Install solar array

Proofread Silver’s history essay

Russia?  
  
Install suspension frame

  
  
Behind Matt’s shoulder there was the unmistakable sound of a female voice gasping higher and higher as she came closer to orgasm. He might be gay but some things were universal.  
  
_Objective Two. Fetal pigs. Formaldehyde. Moldy sandwiches with maggots._  
  
“And rope. Much longer rope.”  
  
Matt nodded and typed it in then changed to a familiar, much used photo album. He’d built it up to pretty impressive proportions since his master had introduced the cock cage. Today he’d been allowed to go without but he was getting better and better at avoiding erections and he’s be damned if he didn’t rise to the challenge now. Or… if he did. Whatever.  
  
He scrolled down through the familiar pictures. _Gangrene. Rotting food. Thatcher. Parasites._ Some of them were obvious Photoshop hoaxes, but they got the job done.  
  
Across the table his lover gave an exasperated sigh.

“Wut?”  
  
Mello glared at nothing on the ceiling. “I bring you here, and you’d still rather be on your phone?”  
  
“Sorry,” he said, turning his phone around in defense to offer his master a view of a particularly bad blowfly gif. “Just needed to flip through my anti-boner album.”  
  
Mello recoiled, pushing the phone around and back to Matt. “Ugh! Gross! Don’t show me that shit!”

“Sorry.” It was hard to tell if he meant it.  
  
Mello sat in disgust for a few seconds then shook his head free of the image. It wasn’t that hard. There was a lot on display to distract him. “You have a whole folder of those?”

“Not just that. I’ve got different pictures.” Matt kept scrolling. “Infection. Moldy steak. Bugs. Frogs.-”  
  
“Frogs?”  
  
“Yeah. There is this species that lays its eggs on it’s own back and when they hatch-”  
  
Mello raised a hand quickly. “Stop. I decided I don’t want to hear after all.”  
  
“kk.” Matt complied, eyes still on his screen.

About a minute passed in which they both resolutely pretended they weren’t listening to the woman very loudly and appreciatively climaxing.  
  
_Infection. Meat processing plant._  
  
Mello cleared his throat. “Guapo.”  
  
Matt’s eyes shot up, wary of the nickname under these circumstances.  
  
“What do you want?” Harsh. Way too harsh. He amended with a lame, “Sir.”

Mello eyed him, unimpressed. “Just had a whim, puta.”  
  
Matt waited.  
  
“Why don’t you go prep yourself in the bathroom?” His master nodded to indicate the direction in which he’d find it and handed over a sachet of lube between his first and second fingers.  
  
Matt took it and tucked it into a pocket. There was a part of him that was more concerned with a weeks worth of blue balls than the fuzzy release of sub-space. It was driving apparently. “You’re going to fuck me?”

 _Moldy fruit on a time lapse. People eating pickled chicken feet. Mello on his lap in their kitchen, wiping blood from his mouth after a kiss that had broken skin last Thursday. Shit! Frogs! Remember the frogs._  
  
“Probably not, but I don’t want to bother with it if I change my mind.” Mello seemed more interested in the sceneing couples than his own submissive.  
  
The cunt.  
  
Matt stood to comply. Then hesitated to clarify a point. “Am I at least allowed to get hard if I’m doing this.”  
  
The blonde glanced up, seemingly confused by the question. “Of course not.”  
  
“Right.” Matt turned on his heel and headed toward the bathroom, Thursday quickly coming back unbidden, every detail perfect.  
  
_The bite of the rope keeping him tied to the chair. The weight of his lover on his thighs. The bruised pulsing of a slapped cheek synchronized by a pounding heartbeat with the pulsing of his cock._

 

Oh no.

 

He grimaced in defeat. There was only one option when he’d let things slip this badly.  
  
He replaced the memory of his lover with Roger. _Sniveling old man. Wearing the black leather. On his lap. In his space. Kissing his skin._

 

The revulsion was complete and immediate.  
  
It was the nuclear option as far as avoiding arousal was concerned, but fuck, did it work.  
  
Heaven help him if the strategy ever back fired.

 


	5. Inferno: Canto 2

As his submissive disappeared behind the restroom door, Mello finally let himself relax. He’d meant to do research before coming to a place like this. Meticulous research. He meant to show up with a Mail caught unaware, bowled over by his confident and expert Dom. Not this toe-dipping ‘let’s just take a look first’ bullshit. But his husband had been so frustrating today and it had seemed so logical an hour ago. He hoped the bravado had been enough to keep Mail from noticing.

He hated not being sure what he was walking into but the worst of his anxieties about the club seemed groundless. Enough that he’d let his submissive wander the 20 steps to the bathroom alone. In all honesty, Mello was surprised.

Between Rod and Rio, Mello had spent plenty of time in the hunting grounds that were big city nightclubs. They were always heaving with people meticulously dressed and full of insecurity. Men in their blazers and tasteless stones. Women who had carefully manicured themselves as close to the ideal as they could get. Big hair. Bigger cleavage. High heels. Almost anonymous behind their make up copying whatever was in fashion at the time. Everyone faking confidence until they either grew into it or gave up. Mello had adorned himself in leather and feathers just to keep from fading into the background. The kohl was always a nice touch, too. It had kept people guessing long enough that he would have a chance to state his case before the other person could decide whether to classify him as ‘comare’ or ‘soldier’ and stop listening.

He’d been in plenty of clubs where sex happened, but never a sex club per say. It wasn’t like anything he’d expected. For a start, there weren’t many beautiful people. Or, they were beautiful, but you’d never see them on a billboard. There were men, women and a number of people somewhere between that Mello couldn’t easily discern: Some overtly, others more subtly. Once his curiosity was peaked it didn’t take him long to spot a few tell tale scars or strategically cut clothing, but he stopped himself soon after. Searching for clues felt wrong somehow. But no matter the body, they were all unified by one thing. The entire main floor had adhered strictly to the dress code of black or bare.

It was beautiful. Those that were dressed shone with the confidence that comes with wearing exactly what one fantasizes about wearing. There were fishnets. Thigh-highs on garters. Corsets. Collars. Probably the highest heels he’d ever seen. And of course leather.

Oh God, the leather.

Mello sat there in his sweater and felt downright frumpy. It wasn’t often he felt like the least interesting person in the room. His teenage self had gotten cocky over some eyeliner and Cuban heels but this… This was serious inspiration.

‘Competition’ a second thought prompted. He did his best to ignore it.

Grinning, Mello was already writing a mental shopping list. It wasn’t that he’d denied himself before; No, he just hadn’t really contemplated the possibilities. The list was growing longer by the second. If this crowd was anything to go by, it appeared Matt may be the only male sub in the greater London area without a chest harness. And for himself, where to start? If he was going to have Matty kissing his boots, he might as well have a pair worth kissing. Something over the knee maybe? How high of a heel could he get away with? It was always so hot when he was towering over his sub. Then Mello deflated a little. He could already imagine Mail laughing at him, ‘Since when am I the one who cares about shoes?’

A little morose, Mello let his gaze go back to scanning the crowd. A few people met his eye but for the most part they kept a respectful distance. He’d gotten a number of curious glances but avoiding eye contact or a polite shake of the head had kept anyone from approaching.

A shadow fell over his light.

Until now apparently. Maybe it was harder to avoid people when sitting alone? He should probably go check on Mail if that was the case.

Mello let his gaze shift up to his interloper, who was standing nervously at the side of his table in a dark suit. Not the cheapest he’d ever seen but not the best either. He was back-lit but Mello could see enough and the man’s face was nothing to write home about. Lightly lined, balding at the crown. Nervous. As the blonde turned his head fully and his scaring came into view, the man sucked in an audible gasp.

In his psyche, a knife stabbed at a familiar wound.

“What ever you’re here to offer, we’re not interested.” The blonde spat, venom dripping from his words.

He saw the man shrink in on himself a little, cringing but something was keeping him glued to the spot. “With all due respect, I’m a little confused why you’re here. We thought Rio was happy with our agreement, Mello.”

Fuck.

He stared at the man, willing his memory to supply a name to match it, but nothing came. He wouldn’t have forgotten. His life depended on things like that. Someone new then.

The man was looking at him expectantly and Mello had nothing to go on.

Damn it!

He gestured to the chair previously occupied by his lover. “Sit down. Let’s be reasonable about this. You look like you’re about to have a heart attack.”

“Apologies. It’s just…” The man hesitated.

“What?”

“Rio’s men said you only show up to take someone out. But please, we haven’t broken any terms and…”

Mello wasn’t listening anymore. Rio was still using him? After all this time, telling people he had his blonde attack dog on a leash? He wanted to throw up. Despite everything, it was this and this alone that made Mello feel dirty in this moment.

“… and if that’s really the only option then fine, but we don’t want…”

What was Rio even doing at a place like this? The central clubs, sure, but this place was tiny! Even then, as far as Mello could see, hardly anyone was using. What would be the point? But then, that had always been Rio’s problem.

“… so please can you ask him to reconsider?”

Was an anonymous night out with is lover really too much to ask? He’d saved the world, remember? Surely he’d earned some karma by now. But his mind, fast as ever, immediately reminded him of sins still outstanding. Before he had a chance to get truly mired into the depressing, blessed stripes appeared at the edge of his vision. His lover hesitated a few yards away and faded into the background leaning against a wall, waiting for a signal.

Mello inspected his gloves, voice carefully measured as he asked, “You think I have time to be your messenger boy?”

If he was panicking before, the man across the table was now babbling through a poorly hidden terrified. He launched into his defense and in the process gave Mello much more to work with. He’d apparently negotiated a truce with Rio’s representatives. The club wouldn’t have to align with Rio as long as it stayed neutral to the other families as well. Easier said then done, but the fact that he’d gotten even that was mildly impressive. Mello listened and all the while inspected the stitching on his palm with the other hand, pinky tucked in. M. Worried a hypothetical loose thread on his thumb. A. Brushed an imaginary piece of lint off of two fingers with two fingers. F. Then a quick tap of the middle finger tip and thumb again passed off as an inspection of wear. IA.

Matt pulled his hands in, subtly signing “Safe?” Mello nodded. Both to his lover’s question and to the man across form him, claiming to have stayed away from any of the families. At least it didn’t seem like a trap. Just Mello once again having the absolute worst luck in the world. He could talk his way out of this and with Matt watching his back from the shadows they would make it out fine.

Except Matt sauntered back to the table and sat down next to Mello. The man across the table was shocked into silence. As was Mello, for a moment.

He must know something. There was no reason for him to join otherwise. Matt reached into his vest and pulled out…

…his DS.

Mello was done. After all Matt had put him through today just to-

…and then a bar of chocolate which he passed to Mello.

Well, maybe Matt wasn’t so bad. He’d keep him, Mello supposed.

Matt turned the game on and said, "Mello-sama, atarashii tomodachi wo tsuretekitandane. kare ga anata no konomi da to omotteimasendeshita."

“Nihongo?” But the blonde cut himself off, “Watari wo iwanakerebanaranakatta toki, sonna ni ayashikuhanakatta.” Right, because two European men slipping into Japanese at what was essentially a mafia negotiation wasn't suspicious? "Hai. Watari."

Across the table the man was looking bewildered but gave no sign of understanding. Mello opened the wrapper and snapped a corner of chocolate off.

“Doushite kare ga nihongo wo hanasenai to omotta?”

“Minna ga shibari no hatsuon wo machigaeru. Amari koko ni ha nihonjin ga konai ni chigainai to omotta.”

“Shibari?”

“Miru toki wakaru. Uchi ni kaeru ni, misete ageru.”

As a pair they looked back to the man across the table, he was staring back at them uneasily. He wasn’t the only one. A few wallflowers and even one or two people in the back rows spectating scenes were turning to watch their exchange instead.

Mello put on a charming smile. “Perhaps you have somewhere more private to speak?”


	6. Inferno: Canto 3

They were inconspicuously led down a small hallway off of the main floor. The man held the door open and Mello took in what seemed to be a small private play room. There was an X shaped cross in the center of the tiled floor with plenty of hooks for securing people too. He briefly wondered what Saint Andrew might have to say about that. ‘Fisher of men’ indeed. There were two metal racks of the tools (‘toys’ he corrected himself) of Sadism: whips, clamps, ropes and restraints. There were even a few implements he didn’t recognize but it was easy enough to deduce their function. And with a flutter in his heart, he laid eyes on the spectators’ settee. The beautiful, soft, elegant and zebra print upholstered settee. A wide grin broke across his face.

This good mood was somewhat dampened by the sound of a gun cocking behind his head.

He turned carefully and by the time he had the man in his sights, Matt already had the knife from his boot to the man’s throat.

They stood frozen for a moment, knife on jugular and gun pointed at Mello’s chest. Matt was waiting for a signal but the blonde held steady.

“You know,” Mello wandered a step forward, “Until this move I’d taken you for somewhat intelligent.” There was a panic in the man’s eyes. He obviously hadn’t expected the knife. Obvious rookie mistake. He was silently deciding between bluffing and pleading.

And what was Mello if not merciful?

He’d even help the man decide. “Give me the gun.” It was shakily handed over to the outstretched leather clad hand. Mello took it and handed it to his partner on his way to closing the door. Matt withdrew the knife but kept the gun trained on him as he circled around. Mello searched the man for more weapons but found nothing. He pulled the man’s arms behind his back and kicked the back of his knees to bring him to the floor. It wasn’t particularly viciously done but the man shrieked anyway. The tile was not kind on his kneecaps.

“Matt, use the spreader bar from the rack.”

Matt tucked the gun away, picked up a thick length of metal and sauntered back to them. He stood before the man and wound up like a golf swing, ready to strike his temple.

“Matt!” Mello yelled, his voice sharp. Matt paused, metal inches from the man’s head.

“Use the spreader bar as a spreader bar.”

“Oh, right…” He went back to the rack for connecting knee and hand cuffs and in a matter of moments they had the man restrained, kneeling before the settee. “But he pulled a gun on you.” Matt murmured. Mello ignored him.

The blonde took a moment to mentally preen and let the familiar glamour of his Mafia days wash over him. He strutted to the settee. And from that moment on, it was his throne. This was his kingdom. He sprawled over the striped fabric, a boot resting on the opposite knee and an arm carelessly thrown over the back of the couch. He lifted his chocolate to a grin.

Snap.

“Now, Mr…”

“Rohr.” Mello just waited. The man was looking resolutely at the floor. “Traver Rohr.” Matt came from behind and searched till he found the man’s wallet. He pulled out his license and nodded in conformation. He wandered away with it, recording his cards and checking for forgeries. This time tomorrow he’d know more about this man’s records than perhaps Traver himself did.

“Mr. Rohr,” Mello used the toe of a boot to raise his chin. Best to get the chain of dominance sorted out before they could start to make any progress. “How about you tell me exactly what made you decide pulling a gun on me was a good idea?”

The man was scared but still furious. “I care about these people. I doubt you could find one out there who hadn’t faced violence because of who they are or whom they love. They’re trusting me and this club is supposed to be a safe place.”

“It’s not very safe with you waving guns around.”

“It’s not safe as long as people like you keep showing up!”

Mello glared. It stung but how could Traver know the context? He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, elbows rested on his knees, eyes inches from his captives’. “People like me?” He held that gaze for long moments, searching, waiting for the crack that never came. Traver was full of fear, yes, but that wasn’t stopping him from meeting the blonde’s glare.

Mello shifted back, his head tilting pensively. “I like you…” Traver’s eyes grew suspicious. “…and I’m going to help you.” Then across the room so did Matt’s. The redhead sat down the electrified clamps he’d been inspecting and wandered a little closer, still just out of Traver’s sight.

“Why?”

Mello motioned Matt to his side. “Because,” He reached up without looking and two fingers found the hard aluminum around his neck. He pulled Matt down suddenly, face a breath away from his own and leaving Matt to awkwardly sprawl two hands and a knee on the couch while a foot trailed lamely to the floor. Still Mello held the man’s gaze. “I know how important trust is.”

Below him the man gasped in realization. Finally Mello allowed himself to turn to his man. Matt was frozen in shock but his pupils were blown wide. He gave Matt a brief, hungry kiss and trailed away with a gaze full of promise before pushing him back, up and away from the couch and out of the negotiations.

“You didn’t come here on business.” Mr. Rohr observed.

“No, but it found me anyway.” Mello admitted with a tight grimace. “If you can stare me down like you are now, then I can help you negotiate your way out of the families’ interests, but it’s only going to work if no-one knows I was here.”

“I’m the only one here who’s been told about you.”

“And your woman who fetched us from the line?”

“Didn’t know your name.” Mello would be confirming this information himself later, but it was enough to be strategizing with.

“You’re lucky I wandered in here today.” Mello let his hand run over the cushion. He couldn’t feel anything much through the gloves, but he could feel green eyes rapt on him. A part of him wished Matt could have seen him during the glory days. “I think this will make a satisfying partnership.”

“I’m not paying you protection. That breaks my neutrality, which is the only thing keeping me out of this shit.”

“Oh, you’re already in the shit. I’m the guardian angel who’s going to get you out of it. And for free. No protection money. No official loyalties.”

“You expect me to believe you’re doing this out of the kindness of you heart?”

“Yes. That and the next time I show up, I don’t want to wait in line.”

“Next time?”

“Oh yes. I’m impressed with your organization and a fan of your interior decoration. Could use a mirror, though.” Mello looked over his shoulder at the bare wall. “A big one.”

The man’s jaw was hanging open.

“Now Mr. Rohr, if you get another visit from an associate of mine, and things get out of hand,” Mello reached into a pocket to produce a black business card with a yellow phone number. “You’re welcome to call me. Keep your gun at home and we shouldn’t have to worry about that.” He leaned forward and tucked the card into Rohr’s breast pocket. Then he unfolded from the couch and wandered toward the door. “I’ll call you soon with instructions.”

With difficulty, Traver turned his head far enough to see them heading toward the door. “Wait!”

The two men looked back curiously. “Problem?” The blonde asked.

Traver jangled his chains slightly. “Aren’t you going to unlock me?”

The redhead just scoffed cruelly. “Mr. Rohr,” Mello chided teasingly, “You did point a gun at me. I hope you’ll take this time to think of what a terrible, terrible decision that was, and how you’re never going to do it again.”

Traver nodded slightly as they left, unsure if he was now in more danger or less. Unsure if he should feel angry or grateful. Unsure of anything.

Beyond the closed door, Matt and Mello spoke in low voices as they quickly walked down the short hallway.

“You think they already alerted your family?” Matt asked.

Something about how Matt said ‘your’ was rubbing the wrong way. “Not about to take the chance.” Mello answered lowly. “We need to get out of here before anyone can show up.” He pulled on a mask of charming friendliness as they neared the coat check and handed over their tickets.

“Oh!,” Mello pretended to remember as he pulled on his coat. “Your boss Mr. Rohr asked us to mention, he could use some assistance in the last room on the left the next time you have a free moment.”

“Of course. Thank you.” The attendant cheerfully answered.

Mello led them through the back door. They were on the bike and blocks away before even a minute had passed.


End file.
